


shadow harvest

by Anonymous



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Implied Maxwell/Wilson, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:47:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29019933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: There is a lesson to be learned, in not bothering someone else's shadow.
Relationships: Wilson/Shadow Clones (Don't Starve)
Kudos: 19
Collections: Anonymous





	shadow harvest

**Author's Note:**

> I hadn't started writing this with smut in mind, but I suppose that's how things go...

The shadows were not kind things.

The form the beings of this realm took were not comforting to look upon, dark as night and wispy as thick smoke, rubber slime masses of gelatin, jagged sharp claws and talons and teeth, fangs longer than ones forearm and with enough power to sever right through bone, an emptiness to the eyes of bleach white, sometimes nothing there at all but the backdrop right behind everything, tar slick strings that weaved and danced and laughed, or at least what could be likened to laughter.

The amusement of the shadows was not human in any way, and Wilson knew oh so little of such creatures. In his head, the dark recess of his genius that had been pushed and scraped smooth by the eternity of undeath and the abominable, tickling the back of his mind was the barest hint of understanding.

The Throne, of Nightmares and Darkness and Thorns and Bondage, of Chess and Puzzles and Deals, had given him that.

But, considering who he was, Wilson was not very willing to acknowledge the unscientific. Seeing, in a sense, was believing, but the human brain was a finicky piece of organ matter and he needed the rest of his senses to get the truth out.

In those regards, the Throne had taken much of that away while seated upon it. At the end of the day, he knew that others saw such apparitions as well, that this was not all on his own, and that there were ways to deal with it all. 

He could not experiment upon something that withered and bit at him, was tangible and yet not, whispering low words in the deepest of nights that made no sense in the morning. What did end up working was simple enough; spears and axes cut hallucinations in half far better than covering one's eyes and ears and screaming to the heavens that such things could not exist, not at all!

So, when those bad times rolled around, Wilson would narrow his eyes and bare his teeth and snarl what leftover sanity he had left before cutting down the beings that wished to eat him alive. Most of the time, he was fairly good at it; the times where he failed were not quick deaths, and he tried to not dwell on it for long.

The Constants shadows were unkind things.

Maxwell Carter's shadows, however, were a different breed.

The one before him angled its head, the slightest of a tilt, as if in greeting, before it turned to continue hacking away at the quarries boulder populace. Its tool, the pickaxe shape and yet only the lightest of indents of fingers and hand about the black smoky handle, cracked through the rock with less resistance than a normal pick, the give of the rock sliding like butter before seeming to catch, drag rough and leaving behind a splattering of cracks and chips in its wake. Pieces of rock were already scattered about, the shallow gully puffing with low dust that dissipated a mere moment before billowing with each swing, the shadows from the fresh noon sun catching its physical form diagonal, in half with light and then shrouded with dark.

It was an interesting picture, and Wilson leaned on the handle of his own pickaxe, watched the shadow work itself through the rock, the wall of the gully.

Up ahead, the ground took a dive, became steep and then grew into a canyon, a spreading line that cut through the quarry biome and dithered into nothingness in the forests. Spiders lived farther ahead, webbing shrouded between the sides and catching every available living thing that dared try to pass, and a few cave entrances were hidden out here as well; seeing those spun webs choked with struggling batalisks was a sight to behold near twilight. 

Webber liked it down here sometimes. The gentleman scientist found it a bit barren to his tastes.

Nearby was a small brook, underground fed and bubbling to the surface, and it only reached a length of a few miles before descending back down to the depths; another thing spiders and bats relied upon. The water was a bit mineral rich, spotted with an oily film it carried up from the depths, but Wilson had the sight to appreciate flowing water; too many stagnant ponds out there to be picky.

The shadow stretched itself, everytime it hefted up the pick, full swings that brought the sharp blade down to dig into the rock, sliding deep before sending cracks throughout the structure. The wall of the gully was crumbled here and there, erosion and environmental meddling, and with each swing it took down more and more, manageable sized rocks and hunks of flint.

The swirled smoke of its form curled in itself, retained in a simple image and yet fuzzy at the edges, drifting, fading at times before solidifying, and it showed no fatigue, no exhaustion, not even hesitating with each move, pace even and continual and uninterrupted now. The rocks scattered about its feet, all about really, were hefty and solid things, useful and raw material, and even more came crumbling down as it continued its work, unfazed as chunks of rock tumbled against its legs, dust billowing and swirled murky within its shadow form. Pebbles fell underfoot, shards of the waste rock, and here and there were the pale light crumbles of nitre, porous chunks of rock that crumbled under the pressure into powder, more hardy specimens handling the fall in one or six pieces. These the shadow brushed away, sweeping an arm out or even nudging with a foot, delicate and yet firm, unhurried, the barest of tilts from its head.

As if curious, for a moment, before more rock came crumbling down from its pickaxe and it was once more back to swinging away.

Wilson watched it for a little while longer as the sun reached its pinnacle up above.

He'll help pick up the pieces once its puppeteer decided that the work was sufficient. No reason to get in the way or waste his energy, when such a thing as an impenetrable shade could do so without the need for rest.

After a few more minutes of watching it, the slide and grace of shadows solidified into a far too familiar form, Wilson set aside his pack and his own pickaxe. The shade made no move in taking notice of him, no hesitation or stumble in its movements, tool slamming down and breaking through the rock with almost no sign of stopping.

The shadow didn't even pause, when Wilson laid his palms against its upper back.

He had to duck to the side a bit, as it continued its work, and under his palms and bone talons the solid oily fuels _moved_ , shifted about as if to mock muscle and bone. Every once in awhile the lavender black fuel jutted a bit, as if to liken to shoulder blades, and Wilson had to adjust a bit but then he had both hands against where the spine would be, feeling the oily gel, solid and warmed by the sun, only a hint of buzzing pins and needles to the middle of his palms. 

The shadow paid him no mind, as Wilson felt along its back, the implied hint of shoulders and back of neck, the odd smoothness of shadows and nightmare fuel. His palms drifted down after feeling how its arms shifted with its mock shoulders, that faint curvature that was only half there, as if not quite well thought out and only remembered in action, and its spine was only lightly curved, more straightened out in a thoroughly inhuman way. Its waist was near nonexistent, hips only a faint hinted jut, and the curves of what had to be the mock fabric of its creators clothing, the hint dipping and edges of a suit. 

Then a brief moment where the transparent shadow of the suits fabric tail, smooth and not quite all there as it dissipated in Wilsons grip. His palms went to its hips again, eyeing the curve of shadow molded form, the lower edge of its all too straight backbone as it only ever so slightly curved-

But by then Wilson realized the shadow had stopped moving. Its shadow formed pickaxe was limp at its side, face stiff and not at all angled towards him, and the sudden shift of silence had Wilson hurriedly backing off from the shadows presence.

"Er, sorry, sorry. I was just…" He didn't really _need_ to explain himself, not to a shadow, as if anyone else had been watching him feel it up, but the excuse still came sputtering up as Wilson dragged a clawed hand through his hair. "...Just science, that was all. I was just doing some science."

A weak excuse, but Wilson hurriedly picked up his pack, stuffed his pickaxe back inside as he avoided looking at the shadow. He'll just...gather up the rocks and nitre. It was all he was out here looking for in the first place, after all.

When he raised his head, a bit hot in the face as he tried to ignore how that must have looked, _he had just done it for science, that was it, science!,_ Wilson had to suppress the shiver that went through him at the sight of the shadowy figure looking back at him, still and silent, head tilted with the slightest of angles.

**

Up above the shallow canyon, still a mile or so off from the spider nests, Wilson made his way through the forests thickened undergrowth. Up ahead he could hear the familiar hacking chops of blade to bark, the groan and hissed whispers as the surrounding woods spoke to each other, and his pack was loaded with the fragile chunks of nitre, a bit of fools gold layering the bottom.

The shadow behind him, pick still in dark shaded hand, followed a respectable distance away. It didn't seem to mind the thorns and underbrush, stepped through or on them without a hint of hesitance or a single implied flinch, and Wilson has stopped giving it glancing, somewhat nervous looks; it was getting through the undergrowth with more ease than him, yet still only followed, didn't lead. There were leaves already tangled in his hair, catching to his vest and dragging against his backpack, and he made himself focus on that fact - while he trampled along with far less grace, there Maxwell's shadow was, having itself a pleasant stroll through the woods. 

Nevermind the brambles or weeds or thorns, and Wilson ducked below a particular thickened set of pine branches, shoes crunching on the layer of needles underneath before crushing another small brush of unknown plant life. The only relief he had was that it wasn't hot, and that the shadow had no gaze with which to stare at him with.

Eventually the thick forest opened up into a clearing, letting Wilson stumble out after fighting through a thick bramble, tripping on his way and only just catching his footing. The shadow behind him slid right on through with hardly any effort, that damn pickaxe still in hand, and Wilson shook his head at it even as he fought the urge to have a closer look, did it leave behind any fuel to those thorns, did it loose any mass with this hiking it had done behind him, was it any different now from before-?

The sudden hard hacking thump of a noise, close enough to almost make his ears ring with the force, and that had Wilson snapping to attention as he scraped off lingering thorns and brambles from his clothing.

Another shadow clone, fuel created axe in hand, and the tree before it groaned long and low and deep as the blade sunk into its trunk. The figure itself stood slightly off to the side, its swings pulling back and then going full forward in a consistent, unbroken manner.

The pine above it shuddered, needles and small twigs already starting to scatter around, and Wilson stood there and watched as the shadow made no move to brush off the needles from its dark shoulders and back. Even from here he could see the stick ends getting caught, the oily fuel slicking the plant matter to its smooth form.

He had caught it at a good time; one more swing, the full force of shadow power and slicing nightmarish blade, and the grand pine gave a great tremor, the very earth shivering as its top highest branches swayed back and forth.

Before, with a near silent death bellow, the pine tipped backwards in one slow arc and toppled down, its trunk snapping from the weight. The earth vibrated under his feet at its fall, and Wilson blinked as the axe wielding shadow finally paused, going still in an already swinging stance before, slowly, letting its tool fall to its side instead.

A quick glance behind him showed that the other shadow hadn't reacted at all, though its pickaxe was gone from its hand, only shadowy molded hands, vague and half done. With its job thoroughly finished, it must have reverted to a more normal state.

Or, at least shed the extra weight.

Wilson hummed in thought, wondering where that extra fuel went, perhaps stored back within the shadows core?, and when he turned his gaze back the second shadow was already hard at work on the fallen tree.

He hesitated a moment, adjusted the pack of rocks and nitre and fools gold on his back, should have enough room for a few logs, before sidling up to the trees desecrated trunk. 

The wood was arched up in shears, testament to the shadow axes blade, though he could see the obvious signs of knowledgeable tree cutting, the higher angle on the side closest to him and that clipped deep low side that had made the tree fall in a desired path. It seemed a bit ironic, that Maxwell's shadows somehow seemed to have it far easier in the cutting of trees than their very creator, and it made Wilson shake his head, a light huffing chuckle escaping him. 

Sort of reminded him of some of his own inventions, really; some creations just did far better with things than the one who had created them in the first place. For many inventions, Wilson knew very well that that was the true goal.

What an odd comparison to the shadows, however, and it made Wilson give the logging shadow a good long look as he thought the implications over.

For its part the shadow didn't seem to mind, using its axe to shear away branches, then to carefully dug into and cut up the raw lumber into more well refined, smaller logs of wood. Its oily form still had needles and twigs sticking out of it, odd mismatched jewelry that really broke up its silhouette into something a bit more flimsy, and the shadow made no indication of being disturbed when he sidled up to its side.

It didn't even flinch, when he raised a dull claw up and carefully plucked a needle laden branch out from its oily lavender shoulder. Only a faint pause, the faintest tilt of its head, before it continued on its work.

Wilson gave the other shadow one more glance, assured of its stillness, unresponsive for now, and got a bit closer as the shadow busied itself with scraping away a large clump of growing branches from the fallen tree. His passing hands didn't seem to interrupt it, or distract it whatsoever as he pulled and snagged out needles and branches from its form.

The oily fuel didn't slick to the debris at all, slid right off back into the shadows form, and Wilson laid a hand to its shoulder as to feel if there were any dents, any holes from the departure of the foreign materials. Brushing his palms over the almost bony molded form, and then plucking another stray needle out from digging into its thin neck, long and tall as its head still leaned over the tree trunk, hands and axe still working away at the branches and wood, Wilson's brows knitted as he flicked a dull claw to the underside of its chin.

It didn't react, not at all, and he instead found a nagging piece of bark stuck to where its collarbone would be if it had one, easily tugging it out and tossing aside. Under his palm he could feel the shadow oils morph, shift for a brief moment, and Wilson could almost swear he could feel a tie there, a raised extra collar and then the folds of the suit jacket.

His other hand had went to its upper arm, and it moved in such a strict, predictable way, scraping delicately at branches and cutting hard, even lines into the wood, that Wilson found it easy to explore down to its elbow, feeling the curve and shifting movement of almost mock tendons before fading into a gelatinous shifting of fuel, that buzzing static numbness against his palms warm, consistent.

By now the hard clump of branches were near through, the shadow dropping the thicker cut ones off to the side with no sign of worry on the weight or length of the things. Wilson only drew his hands back for a moment as it tossed aside branches into a pile, then when it got into digging its axe blade into the bark with solid, firm pressure, not heavy swung chopping, he let his curiosity take hold once again.

This time he got a bit bolder, eyeing its blank, eyeless face as he took a steadying breath, but it had one hand down against the trunk doing nothing while the other did the fine line cutting so Wilson took the moment to carefully pull away its arm and have a good look at its hands.

They were smooth, in that oddly oily gel way, and didn't quite meld back together into a misshapen mess, no, but instead slick imprints of each finger. They ended in talons, almost butter soft at times and yet, as he reached the ring finger and peeled it away from meshing with the pinkie, the curl of movement to catch against his own bone talons seemed to sharpen it, harden into a deep talon. He hesitated a moment, just a bit as he thought on it, before laying his palm to the shadows wrist.

It was a silly thought, of a pulse being there, but oddly satisfying to confirm the silent shifting of the shadowy oils instead, warm and buzzling lightly against his skin.

It took a bit, for Wilson to realize the shadow had gone very, very still.

It had curled its hand against his, not quite tangling and more inclined as if to pull away, and Wilson blinked as he realized the shadow had pulled up its axe and was stoically waiting to continue on its work, head still lowered down, not at all any other indication it noticed him.

And he was stopping it, by holding its hand away.

Immediately he let go, and the shadow was back to work, using both its hands to finish up refining the wood. His own tingled, a faint numbness to them from the prolonged shadow fuel contact, and Wilson curled his dull claws, pressing against his warm palms and shivering.

It startled him, when he took a step back and felt resistance. He almost flailed back into the other shadow, a sharp yelp escaping him before his claws caught on the trunk and he was able to calm himself, it was fine, just the other shadow-

It stood there, stiff and still, and its head wasn't angled at him but for a mere moment Wilson was _sure_ it was looking at him.

"Just...just more science, haha…" It sounded weaker this time, but Wilson straightened himself up, cleared his throat with a shallow cough and forced down that little shiver and flicker of heat in his belly as he thought of the shadows hands, smooth and warm and oily slick from its fuel make, those soft butter talon points that drew sharp as they moved, curled and grazed against his palms-

Wilson quickly shook his head, and his thoughts, back together, ignoring how he had been biting his lower lip, ignoring that twist of understanding he had just realized from his examinations with the two shadows. 

He wouldn't think about it, not right now, not smooth oily shadow skin and moldable taloned fingers, nope, none of that!

With that in mind, Wilson turned and went about collecting the slowly growing heap of logs the shadow had cut down, ignoring the faint burn to the back of his neck and face, and at the very least appreciating that he couldn't feel any sort of gaze from the silent, patiently watching shadow that hovered a little too close nearby.

***

It was near sunset now, and Wilson tread carefully, watching for spiderwebs. His pack was stuffed with rock materials and wood, more than enough to make even a simple science machine, small and stunted as it would be, but he was more eager for other projects. Updating the alchemy engine, for one, and perhaps a few new additions, blueprints in his head for the Think Tank, ideas from mixtures of shadowy dreams, whispering slimy Knowledge, and general discussed ideas exchanged back and forth with the others - this helped distract Wilson quite well enough from the two shadows following his steps.

He had been certain they wouldn't leave their creator for long, nor for nearly a whole day either, but here they both were, tools long dissolved and dogging his heels as he walked on.

The forest had turned into a much nicer, easier cliff hike, far above the crevice that, a few miles back, was where he had met the first shadow while it had dug at rocks for hours on end. He hadn't caught sight of that brook, must have passed it while he was in the forest, but this high up and he could see the shimmering threads of spider webs down there, reflected with the dying sun's crimson light.

Up ahead was a field of boulders, an undug quarry scattered with gold veins, and along with that spider nests that crowded the clifftops. Wilson wasn't exactly looking for much in particular with spiders, perhaps a bit of silk may help add on to all the supplies he had been able to gather, taken from the shadows of course but as if their creator seemed to be around to take the spoils anyhow-

Up ahead, Wilson could hear the shrill shrieks of spider's unrest, the clicking drag of legs as they scraped together, then tapped atop the rocky field.

Along with that, as one hissing voice suddenly went silent, was the telltale vibrated silent noise of a shadow blade.

The two shadow clones behind him followed close, making Wilson give them a disgruntled, faintly confused look, but his focus was on what was going on behind the boulders up ahead. The thought of stumbling into a spider free for all was not appealing, so Wilson chose the other option; climbing one of the boulders as to see if he could get a good view and scout the situation out.

What he saw was a tad unusual - a shadow clone stood before the weavings of a silk spun web, the nest far deeper within hidden by more boulders, and every few seconds it would take a few steps and tap, tap along against the triggering web, as if starting a little odd dance before the spiders cries of irritation rose up.

This particular nest was far enough away from the others to not cause a chain reaction, and the chaotic assortment of boulders seemed to funnel the spiders right down through in a neat line, so Wilson found himself watching as the shadow clone swung its blade about, felling oversized arachnids one by one.

It moved with an elegance he's seen often with its creator, a familiar curve and twisting strike that slashed the spiders in half - it certainly wasn't looking for meat, that was for sure - and its sword, curled and held in its hand almost delicately, sliced through the air with its low vibrating hum of silent shadow sound, nightmarish fuel eating right through spider bodies one by one, piling them up across the rocky, pebble strewn ground. 

No gold in this particular spot, but Wilson could see, as he peeked over his boulder, that it was a good strategic spot for culling the spiders without getting overwhelmed. Good thinking on the shadows part, or perhaps more the creators, and how he had placed it down there.

The last wave of spiders seemed to end, nudging at the silk webbing causing no more angry spidery cries, and so Wilson watched as the shadow suddenly crouched down and started to sort through the fallen bodies.

That was enough to make up his mind to come down, scrambling over the boulder with the other two shadows right behind him, and when he dropped down the third didn't do much besides slightly raise its head, just a bit, a faint tilt in his direction, before going back to its corpse scavenging.

Wilson ambled over with as little excitement as he could make himself hold to, sternly ignoring how the other two followed in his step, as if _he_ was their creator for some god awful reason, and turned his gaze to those thin, oily smooth hands.

The shadow cracked open the spiders with precision, using the sliced wounds as leverage ways in, and the sickening cracks and pops, the squelshing of the purple foul spider meats within the shells were ignored, those hands going for fat pink glands or sticky bundles of silk still left within the spiders body. Streaked with spider ichor, splatters of it still painting the shadows solid gel form, fuel not quite meshing with the blood, like oil atop water yet still sticky enough to stay, oils paints maybe, and Wilson leaned over the shadow and watched it work, sorting its loot out on either side of its kneeled form.

It didn't even pause, not even a flinch of surprise, when he raised his hands and laid them to its head.

Curiosity, tempting curiosity flowed through his mind, nagging at him, and Wilson sucked in a steady breath, ignored the feeling of the other two nearby him, and let his dull clawd hands wander down the shadow clones face.

Situated behind it he couldn't exactly see where he touched, but the divots, the mock hints of sharp cheekbones, hollow and thin, the high eyebrow ridge, even, for a moment, a faint indication of that familiarly large, bothersomely cold nose, before the oils seemed to shift and Wilson found his palms pressing to smooth shadow once more.

It didn't stop him from sweeping his palms down the sides of the shadows head, the numbness setting in early now as his dull claws traced against its face, light pressure as he leaned a bit more forward behind the oily form, letting his hands get a feel of that jutting chin. The throat, for a mere moment, was soft and warm, both his hands on either side of the shadows neck, before he traced his palms up and it was slimy smooth oils, only faint dips indicating the mocking image of its creator.

He felt down the back of its head, the ridge of where spine met skull, or what would constitute as spine and skull in an oily doppelganger, and a faint, pleased smile tugged on his face when Wilson felt the notched ridges of smooth vertebrae, dragging his palms down and then up the shadow molded shifting, how it seemed to smooth and become gel like under his searching, exploring hands.

Perhaps, he wondered, perhaps there was some semblance of a skeleton under all this thick nightmare fuel. Maybe Maxwell used his own bare bones skeleton as basis, to allow a more stabilized form? He was certain he for sure felt something other than just plain jelly shadows, the oily consistency smoothing and as if changing under his palms.

Then again, perhaps it was just a trick of the mind. Wilson wouldn't put it past himself, especially when trying to find the secret knowledge of these things out on his own. 

The shadow had slowed its movements under his hands, and Wilson had to blink a few times before pulling away, realizing that there were no more spider corpses for it to dig into. Silk and glands were piled on either side of it, and Wilson watched as it took a stand, straightening up in one smooth, fluid movement.

So much taller than him, he realized somewhat belatedly, and he tensed as it turned itself to face him, faceless face tilted ever so slightly, as if looking directly at him.

Then it turned away, firm, solid movements, and started to pile up the spider bodies a little further away.

The other shadows were silent, still, and utterly unresponsive when he turned and frowned at them, but their stiffness helped a bit with the creeping paranoia.

Still, he felt he should talk, even if none of them ever answered, or at least he hoped they never did.

"As I said, it's for science." Not as much conviction, but not nearly as desperate - as if he needed to explain himself to shadows!

With that Wilson bent down and started to pack up the glands and silk, ignoring the sticky building stench of foul spider ichor.

Waste not, want not, as they say.

***

By the time it was nightfall Wilson was really starting to wonder about the shadows.

He had set up a fire near the edges of the forest, close enough to the canyon cliffs to hear the wind rush over the rocky sides, far enough to not hear even a hint of spider activity, and not quite deep enough into the woods to cause a forest fire hazard. The shadows, all now lacking their original tools, empty handed and silent, were not exactly _watching_ him but Wilson was beginning to think something might be off.

The shadows Maxwell created never really lasted long, a day and a half at most, and the old man didn't make it a habit of sending them off very far either. The fact that they had been scattered out here, gathering supplies and yet not exactly _gathering_ them, was a bit of a warning flag in Wilsons mind.

What exactly were they doing out here? He couldn't just ask them, they'd not answer of course, and yet Wilson crouched by his steady, warm fire and watched the three dark silhouettes stand there, quiet and unmoving.

A part of him felt as if he should feel discomforted by their presence, but spending near all day with the oily, silent things, smooth and sun warmed, only leaving the faint impression of shadow presence against the palms of his hands, helped ease his mind in that regard. They could be dangerous, he's seen them be used to take down giant ravenous hounds after all, but…

None of them had raised a hand against him as of yet, not even when he had been a bit..handsy.

That thought made Wilson frown, brow falling low as his thoughts, and curiosities, came bubbling back up. They were such odd things, shadow oils inherently _different_ from what the Constant housed within itself, and a part of him very deeply wanted to know the full extent of that, and _why_.

After a moment, turning over a few thoughts in his head, Wilson finally stood up. The fires light danced about the small clearing, painted up the tall pines thick trunks, and yet the three shadow silhouettes stood there and reflected the flames at odds, light flashes of lavender, translucent hues, and then pitch black holes in the world, sucking in the very thought of light and leaving nothing behind.

The distinct oddness drew him in, eyes sliding between the three, no longer able to tell which was which, who he had stumbled upon first. That led Wilson to just approaching the one in the middle, a complete copy to the others, a mimic of their creator and yet just a fragment of an oily afterimage. 

The shadow clone didn't seem to react to his presence, no shifting or leaning or even that familiar tilt of the head; Wilson narrowed his eyes at it, looking upon it almost searchingly for a few moments.

He's touched upon the spine of these things, the shoulders and arms, hands and talons, face and neck and throat, but he's missed a more major space.

Determined, ignoring the other two in his peripheral vision, Wilson took a step up to the tall shadowy form, raised up his dull clawed hands, and set them just atop where its collarbone would be.

There was a dip there, an indent, almost bony, and as he smoothed his palms over it there was an edge, as if his dull claws were catching to a suit. His eyes trailing his path, Wilson let his hands wander, exploring the smooth oily sides of the shadow, circling up and under its arms, to that faint curving indent of an armpit that barely resembled such a thing, then back down in a slow, searching manner.

Its chest was non distinct, no indications of normal anatomy, or even that which he was used to on their creator; only a smooth, warm expanse, buzzing pins and needles to his palms, creeping to his wrists now. This didn't stop him much, not when his wandering hands dragged low, and even as a shadow it was a hollow gut, rounded and yet so very eerily empty. Its hips his claws landed upon for a moment, still bony, that faint transparent indication of the curling edges of a suit jacket, and Wilson blinked downwards for a moment, bottom lip caught in his teeth as his eyes carelessly searched downwards-

A brief moment was spent where he caught himself, face growing warm as he jerked his gaze back up, to stare into its faceless face, but his hands were still on its bony waist and, it wasn't as if anyone else was around…

A quick glance showed him that the other two had not moved, and his fire was still going steady, a faint twinge of heat in his belly that he soundly ignored, and then Wilson, with only a single taken steadying breath, let his hands crawl down low.

His palms met nothing.

He should have expected that, really, and Wilson blinked, feeling fairly silly as he leaned back a bit to have a look. The shadow ended there quite cleanly, matched up with its legs, the thighs of it nothing to really take note of. As his dull claws prodded at it, brow drawn low in concentration, Wilson wondered idly why he ever thought there'd be anything there in the first place.

It was a shadow, after all. What reason would there be for it to have any sort of… _addition_ made to it there?

Finding nothing at all, feeling a slow wave of confused disappointment lap through his mind, Wilson huffed a sigh and drew his hands back, away from the shadow. It was just a silly, foolish venture, messing with these things, and Wilson mentally berated himself for even indulging in what he had been doing as he started to take a step back.

Familiar resistance met him almost immediately.

Wilson froze for a moment, took in a breath of shaky air, and then twisted around. 

One of the shadow clones stood there behind him, exactly in his path. Its arms were loose by its sides, but its head…

The shadow tilted its faceless face at him, an action he has grown rather familiar with by now, but all it did was make his heart pound a little faster in his chest, a sudden sweat break out on the back of his neck as he stuttered out the same old excuse as before.

"I-it's for science, you know! I was, was just finishing up, don't worry!"

There was no indication that he had even been heard, and the shadow only drew closer, boxing him into backing up against the other. Wilson tried to turn around again, tried to look back at it, but its head was also tilted, crooked to the side ever so slightly, and after a moment he realized he was practically in the things arms.

"H-hey now, I was just, just curious! There's no need to get, get…" Wilson swallowed hard as the third shadow entered his sights, two of them blocking him off against the thirds presence, and by now he had to lean back as they both drew in close, that cursed curious tilt of their heads still there, still lending an odd, dizzy air to the whole mess. "..no need for violence, I assure you..."

His voice had dropped down low, almost whimpered as he stiffened up at the feeling of the shadow behind him pressed flush to his back, its numbing, warmed chest seeming to seep feeling straight through his clothes. A shaky nervous smile had crept up on his face, heart pounding in his chest, he's seen these things in action, hell all day he's watched them, they could tear him limb from limb like any horrible violent shadow monster, they may be Maxwell's but they were still _shadows._

Then his thoughts stuttered, train track of thoughts stumbling atop uneven tracks, as one of the shadows raised its arm-

And set its smooth, molded hand atop his shoulder.

It tilted its head, that awful curious air still about it as Wilson gaped at it, fear and panic and shock seeping through his system, _what should he do,_ before another of those hands snagged up his attention.

This time behind him, drifting against his right shoulder blade before dragging low, the soft curve of talons that only hardened as they stretched out, shadow oily palm pressed to the middle of his back. 

Wilson stood still, frozen, as one shadow held its hand atop his shoulder, another pressing touch in sweeping odd curves up and down his spine, the third leaned back ever so slightly to allow this yet keeping him caged in between them all. For a few minutes that was all it was, a dragging hand going up and down his back, talons snagging on his clothing every once in awhile, and it made him flinch each time because even the smallest hole or torn thread could be such a pain to take care of-

That hand tickled up against the back of his neck, right over his collar and suddenly warm static against his bare skin, and Wilson tensed up, jaw grit tight and eyes wide at the odd feeling.

And then the shadow seemed to hesitate, the one before him only dipping its face a little lower, as if really getting a good look at him. Shadow fingers started to lightly pet through his locks of hair, still only just a hint above his neck.

The soft movements, light drag of talons that made his skin prickle, goosebumps rising all over him as Wilson shivered at the feeling, and after a moment his eyes slowly lulled shut as the soothing pets and itches started to quell down his panic. It lasted a good few minutes, the sensations so foreign and yet, almost calming, _nice_ , that Wilson couldn't help but relax in the other shadows arms.

And then that brushing hand drew away, suddenly started a quick drag down his neck, following his spine, and Wilson jerked forward with a startled yelp as he almost anticipated it going for his-

But it stopped at his waist, pressing the hardened forms of its talons against the near lowest point of his spine, hooking to his clothing, and for now that was what he would be appreciative of, because Wilson had inadvertently fallen forward into the other shadows arms, not quite close enough to be panting against its oily slick skin but close enough to see the dark shade colors _move_ , black and lavender twist and dance as the firelight reflected through in almost mesmerizing ways.

That hand pressed, kneaded against his spine, and thank god for his clothing because even with fabric in the way Wilson could still feel the warmth, that somewhat buzzing texture that just set his teeth on edge yet made his knees go a bit weak-

Before, without much warning, that shadowy hand was joined by another and they slipped right underneath his vest and undershirt.

It made him go shock still, tense as a sound escaped him, the oily shadows were smooth and soft and warm, heated, pressed against the skin of his back, and it made him just _shiver._

But, nothing else happened for a good bit after that. Wilson breathed, got himself back under a somewhat stable control, and one shadow was holding him up in its arms, the other guarding him close and the third keeping its hands to the middle of his lower spine, almost low enough to be obscene but not quite yet there.

His face burned now, not with his own thoughts but _embarrassment_ , what would happen if someone came upon him like this, caught up by three shadowy clones of _Maxwell Carter_ , of all people! The heat of the shadow's touch pooled to his spine, would almost be called soothing if he wasn't in this sort of position, and Wilson closed his eyes and tried to think up a plan.

He had almost thought of something, perhaps he could attempt to trip them up, or throw the lot of them off balance, when suddenly the shadow holding him up started to move.

It didn't set him up fully straight, that other keeping its numbing warmed palms pressed to his spine, but it did shift its arms and suddenly Wilson found his left arm captured up in its grip.

His rolled up sleeves gave him no reprieve for this, as those shadow molded, slick taloned fingers trailed down his shoulder, cupping his exposed elbow, then dragging down the underside of his inner arm until it touched upon his wrist.

Then it tilted its hand, half curled, and Wilson swallowed fitfully as it pressed its palm right to his pulse. 

There was a pause then, a few silent seconds as he held his breath, this was fine, this was most definitely _fine._

Then the shadows long fingers, talons turned soft, malleable as they dragged up to his palm, to the middle in warm arcs, before rising instead to-

To start fiddling, touching and entangling with his bone claws. Thankfully he had little nerves to feel for that, but the sensitivity of his palms heightened the warm pins and needles touch, sent shivers and light jerks up his arm and twitching his shoulder, and Wilson squinted his eyes in mild discomfort, the consistent heat of palm against his spine and now another tangled with his hand getting a bit more distracting now, hard to make a plan when he was being so...touched on.

He didn't get much of a reprieve this time, barely a minute or so before the last shadow started to move, he could feel it behind him, his back having been shifted to brush against its chest, and he could still feel that other one touching his spine, what was it doing, was it behind the other, arms wrapped around just to touch him?

Imagining it made it look sillier in his head, but Wilson didn't have time to try and sort it out before there were suddenly warm numbing hands on each side of his head.

It shocked the breath out of him, sensitive touch that had talons thread over his greasy hair, and they shifted, urged his head up and slightly leaned backwards, and he couldn't exactly _struggle_ , could he?

A heady exhale left him in a gasped hush as those hands began to moved, brush through his hair, press heated patterns to his skull, dizzying and spiraled, but it was far more overwhelming when they tilted, shifted, and suddenly Wilson had to close his eyes as those shadowy palms pressed over his vision. 

..it was so _warm-_

Thumbs pressed against his cheeks, up and down, dragging heat against his skin, and Wilson stuttered in a sucked inhale of air, then stammered it back out again, this time with a few wobbling words.

"This, t-this is..still for science…"

His scrambled mind caught hold of that, _science,_ it was an _experiment,_ of course it was, testing the shadow clones, adding himself as variable, _it was all science, hahaha-_

His internal excuses jarred out of his brain as those hands pressed more fully to his eye sockets, long taloned fingers idly tracing his nose line, and near all thought dipped out of his head when one hand tilted and a few fingers started to brush against his mouth.

_He hadn't done that to them, had he!?_

But confusion was swallowed down by sensation, heat and touch as a long soft talon traced his lips, edged low and hooked the corner of his mouth before dragging across, he could just _barely_ feel that claw tickling across his gums-

And then the shadow shifted its hand once more, pulling away from his opened mouth, panting softly as his mind came back around with more stable thoughts, that buzzing warm static still lingering upon his lips, enough so that Wilson found himself lightly pulling his lower lip under his teeth, a sharp, stabilizing nip that tried to bring him back even as palms started to sway up and down against his spine, even as shadowy molded fingers started to twist and touch and entangle with his bone talons with a bit more enthusiasm.

He still hadn't been granted back his sight yet, static color blooming darkness behind his eyelids, and Wilson slowly started to test the boundaries of his engagement, carefully leaning a bit side to side, brushing against the shadows as he stretched out his free arm, tilted his head downwards, _perhaps if he just acted fast-_

But then there were hands suddenly atop his shoulders, firm, thumbs pressing to his shoulder blades, as if the shadow was behind him, behind the other shadow covering his eyes and the one touching up and down his back-

_But there were only three of them-_

His mind blanked as they suddenly encircled and traveled down, low and dragging against his vest, hooking hardened talons to his undershirt, the heat of warmth and contact not quite enough just yet, Wilson shook his head, a blind attempt to shake off those hands as he grit his jaw in a wild snarl, _ready-_

And then any plan in his head was instantly gone as those warm, smooth slick hands were suddenly bunching up under his clothes and pressing bare palms to his chest.

His skin tingled with the contact, a shaky gasp making his chest heave, and the shadows boxing him in seemed to shift, draw him in closer, more fully set into the cage of hot oily numb shadow hands, their heated bodies pressing against him, smooth and firm and yet just enough to keep his stunned mind absolutely _spinning._

The hands on his chest rose up high, talons going soft as they palmed him up, grazing his collarbone before drifting and, then suddenly-

- _lightly pinching his nipples_ , an almost teasing gesture that made Wilson choke, tense up in the shadows caging arms and bodies, and now his mind vaguely recognized that getting out of this may be a hint bit _difficult._

Those fingers were not cruel, shadowy and slick as they soothed over him, then drifting to idly draw through the hair he had on his chest, not exactly something he was _proud_ of or anything, just natural genetics, never exactly had the time to care for it as much as he did for his beard when it grew in for coming winter-

Wilson gasped, spine arching as those soft talons suddenly curved hard and _dragged_ down his chest, buzzing sharp lines of pain that made his breathing grow stuttered, unsure as his thoughts toppled down into a clattering pile of disjointed plans and words. The sharpness of it bubbled up something else, something not truly unpleasant, especially with how those talons were now circling about his gut, palms pressing and dragging around in unseen patterns he'd not remember anytime soon.

The blindness of himself came crawling back up as discomfort, and Wilson shook his head with a bit more force, this time getting enough in him to pull up a hand and tug at the shadows covering his vision, his other still tangled up in shadowy fingers, but his attempt was dismantled as the shadow before him took his hand back down. Now both his hands were entwined with shadow fingers, his bone claws scraping with hardened talons, or rubbing up and together with butter soft claw tips, and still the hands on his spine continued to touch and pet, up and down, and _still_ the hands along his belly continued to feel him up.

They dipped low, taloned thumbs brushing against his hips, curving touch and almost, almost as if _exploring_ him, before they suddenly seemed to…

..hesitate.

Wilson only vaguely recognized what was going to end up happening a few seconds too late, and his mouth snapped open, just about to start cursing the shadow, yell at them, _somehow_ get them to let him go-

But then those hands traveled straight downwards, right to where he wasn't exactly expecting them to be.

And Wilson, as he tried to explain himself to his own mind, knew very well that it was just the sensations, the touches, the stimulation, it didn't meant anything at all, that he was _half hard_ already and only just getting started from how these shadows still held him-

-it had nothing to do with how it was a bunch of _shadows_ touching him, their tall, thin, elegant statures, their bony long hands and oily forms, molded and fitting and warm, so damnably _warm-_

It wasn't because of the shadows, Wilson told himself, it wasn't because they were _Maxwell Carter's_ shadows, it didn't mean _anything!_

Yet still he huffed, already panting, gasping as those slick moldable fingers, soft talons now, so soft and delicate, started feeling him up quite _thoroughly._

If it didn't take long before he was rocking ever so slightly into that touch, mouth hanging open and letting the shadows hold him, help him as he thrust his hips forward, slow and yet hiding urgency, then Wilson was vaguely sure the shadows wouldn't be telling anyone that anytime soon, especially with how preoccupied they were with him.

Their continual touches just spurred him on, a twisting pressure underneath his gut as their petting grew more firm, more consistent, and Wilson couldn't help the whimper that escaped him as those hands fondled him through his trousers.

One hand moved, went back up to his hip, curled around as if to cup his belly, to get a stable grip, but that other continued to massage him through the thick fabric, maddeningly slow and steady.

At some point his erection was being constricted almost _painfully_ by his own clothing, his little thrusts for friction from those teasing hands not at all enough, never enough, never would _be_ enough and Wilson just, he couldn't-

"Will you just, just get on with it!"

His sharp half snarl, an almost command, seemed to get through to the shadows, though not in the way he had fully intended. 

The hands on his back suddenly curved around, hot hardened talons fingering his ribs, up and down, slow and steady, and the hands holding his own trailed upwards to encase his wrists, hot palms pressed just so against his pulse, lightly pulling his arms out and against the shadow before him.

The hands against his eyes hardly moved, though a shift caught him off guard as a soft finger pressed against his lips, slipping inside before he realized what it was and pressing a smooth talon against, curling around his tongue, scraping his gums along the way.

But none of that compared to when the shadow hands teasing him so finally unbuttoned his trousers and slowly, dreadfully slowly pushed them low, down to his knees.

Wilson near sobbed, when those warm palms and oily fingers started to tease the head of his erection through his boxers.

By the time there was a damp stain in the fabric, growing by the second as those fingers lightly pet and stroked him in almost halfhearted movements Wilson was practically a complete wreck. He was barely keeping himself standing, relying on the thronged shadows as his knees shook, turned jelly underneath him, and he trembled as the hands all atop his skin continued their uncaring ministrations, mouth gaping open in his panting and barely contained moans.

It was taking all he had, to not give in to that, even as his hips jerked forward and those hands pulled away, just leaving a taloned finger to rub over the sodden fabric that covered his tip, and this time it made him whimper out a very real sob. The finger in his mouth had been joined by another, tugging the corner of his lips up and leaving his every breath gasping out, and another few agonizing minutes dragged on by as those hands teased him, tortured him on a strung line of shaking, trembling edged awareness-

"P-please," Wilson begged, the shadows holding him up as his legs near bucked under the strain, and those warm hands pressed firmly to his skin, rubbed and pet and touched him wantonly, uncaring to his moaned sobs, uncaring as the hands covering his eyes grew damp with spilled frustrated tears, "p-please, I, I can't-"

His hips rocked forward, wheezing a whimpered groan as a warm hand teased him for a bit longer, palm pressed to his clothed head, rubbing along slow and steady, just a hint too light-

Before suddenly the hands feeling up his ribs slid down, tangled with the top of his boxers, and pulled them down in one go.

It was startling enough, especially when one of the shadow hands teasing him suddenly lifted away from his skin long enough to lightly slap way the offending shadows touch, and Wilson could feel the shadows as they shifted, adjusted, a faint thread of unease that even _he_ could feel, but before he could say anything at all there was a warm, oily shadow hand on his erection and Wilson found that he could hardly string two thoughts together anymore.

His hips thrust into the contact, shadows letting him lean and rock, his own bone claws tightening atop shadow fingers as he blindly scrambled for a grip, and one of those hands had gone to touching all about his groin, massaging down low and then dragging high to pet his gut, but all that came and held in his mind was the shear concrete touch of a hand _jerking him off._

The shadows spared no expense, soft talons turning hardened at just the right moments, alternating between letting him fuck that oily heated slick grip and stilling him long enough to stroke him silly, and Wilson moaned agains the shadow holding him up, feeling its body, the other shadow silhouettes bodies as they held him, touched him, close enough to _smell_ the nightmare fuel, that spiced oily thick scent invading his senses, invading him as a hot taloned finger pressed up firm under his tip, rubbing the nerves of his cockhead and sending him ever closer to the edge-

The shadows felt him up in continuous touches, one stroking his cock in tune with his haphazard thrusts, moans spilling from his lips now, he can't stop that, not, not _now-_

Wilson arched, a sharp inhale as his spine bowed and body went tense, and with a choked gasp the man ejaculated in the shadows grip.

He came to with shuddering breath, a brief moment where the shadows touches were gentle, fainter now, one still slowly stroking his softening cock as his legs trembled and his mind tried to unscramble from the haze of orgasm. He caught a brief glimpse, of white against black lavender, translucent oily shadows, enough to send a fluttery pressure shock to under his gut and make his spent cock twitch, before, without any sort of warning-

The shadows all about him dissipated in a weeping misty mess of smoke and fog, dropping Wilson unceremoniously into the dirt.

It took a few moments, minutes of catching his breath, pulling his scrambled mind and his thoughts back together, before Wilson was able to lift his head.

His fire from earlier still crackled on, not quite as strong as before but still steady. The dark night that surrounded him was encompassing, impenetrable, and the ground underneath him was…

A look of vague disgust graced him as Wilson recognized his own cum smeared on his clothing, as well a faint dampness that attested to the darker, near translucent smears that had stained his clothes and soaked into the dirt and grass underneath him. His arms still shook as he sat himself up, slow and steady as he almost swooned at the motion, skin pricking pins and needles and spine shivering from that constant numb pulsing, as if most of his body had just...fallen asleep on him.

It wasn't a pleasant feeling, and neither was having to tuck himself back into his damp trousers and clean himself up, but the shadows were certainly gone now, leaving Wilson well alone for the rest of the night.

..if he found himself straying a bit too close to Maxwell Carter's shadows in the future, Wilson only needed that familiar little tilt of the clones head to make him quickly back off. He'll make sure to leave well enough alone from now on, that was for sure.


End file.
